


Hard No

by EnbyMunro



Series: Hard No [1]
Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: First Time, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of Suicide, Ontario Gothic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 03:43:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6549187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnbyMunro/pseuds/EnbyMunro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darry’s the kind of guy you’d trust to help blast stumps on the back fifty without a care that he’d blow your leg off. </p><p>That sort of companionship is hard to find in a place like Letterkenny.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard No

Darry is Wayne’s best pal. 

Has been since grade school. Ever since Katy brought Daryl home, dragging him in by the cuff of his shirt.

“Here, you two belong together.” She said as she shoved Darry towards Wayne, “Go squish bugs, or whatever.” 

For the first few minutes they just stared at each other, awkward.

Antisocial is what the teachers call it.

Of course, it was Wayne that spoke first. 

“M’Wayne.” He said, hand out for a shake. Then, determined to not let this new arrival mess with his plans he added, “There’s a hornets nest out back.”

“Yeah? M’Daryl.” And after a handshake and a bit of pocket rustling. “Stole a lighter from my Mom.”

“Huh.” The thought had never even occurred to Wayne. “‘Kay.”

Darry had a bloody nose at the time, and Wayne never found out if it was Katy who done it, or some bully, but hell, she always was the smart one.

Darry’s two years younger than Wayne, but they got along from the get-go anyways. Wayne’s not the introspective type, so he doesn’t think about the nature of their relationship much, he just expects Darry to be there every morning, ready to work. 

And for the most part he is. 

“Looks like there’s weather comin’,” Wayne tells Darry one morning. Doesn’t matter which.

“Yep, better get the cows in.” Darry says, as he scrapes out the last of his yogurt cup and hops to it.

~~~

Daryl’s never had much money. Daryl’s Mom, Susan, got knocked up when she was sixteen and raised him on whatever she made as a cashier at the Co-op. Which was not much.

Wayne’s parents didn’t like Daryl, but it seemed like they didn’t like anything or anyone when he was growing up, so that’s hardly a good measure of a person. When Wayne had chores on the farm Darry always helped out, so that could have had something to do with it. 

“I guess I could squeeze her tits for a half-hour.” Darry’d say, when it was Wayne’s turn to milk the heffer.

And then.

“If you’re gonna be baleing hay, I might as well.”

And then.

“I’ll drive the Massey if you do the Deere.”

Darry didn’t have a Dad, but he had Wayne’s by proxy and slowly over the years they learned to run a farm together. He is one of the few people Wayne can stand for any period of time. It was a unique property that Darry shared with Katy and, until recently, Angie.

Darry’s the kind of guy you’d trust to help blast stumps on the back fifty without a care that he’d blow your leg off. 

That sort of companionship is hard to find in a place like Letterkenny. 

~~~

Wayne’s Dad wouldn’t let him play hockey, as it was a distraction from farming. Daryl could never afford organized sport anyway, but they both had skates and sticks and they both had too much time in the winters. So, every fall, they’d dam up the creek out behind Darry’s Mom’s rental house and they’d flood the backyard to make a rink.

They played for hours out on that pond, until their cheeks were burned red and their toes were so numb they could hardly walk after taking their skates off. Wayne’d disappear from the farmhouse every morning and return only for supper, a habit Wayne’s Dad actually approved of.

They’d get lunch at Darry’s everyday. Susan would make Wayne super soft sandwiches with the crust cut off. They’d drink tea out of little china cups. If his Dad knew he’d call Wayne a Sally and probably give him a lick’n, but he fuckin’ loved it anyways.

“More tea Mr. DeBoer?” Susan would ask him, with a fake British accent.

“You’re too kind, miss.” Wayne’d reply. 

By the time lunch was over he and Darry’d be ready to get rowdy again, as rough and as fast as they could on the bumpy ice, but it was always a good break to sit and be calm for a while.

Susan offed herself one February when Darry was sixteen. It was cold and she was alone. It happens sometimes and nobody really talks about it out here, except when they do.

Wayne slept over at Darry’s place for nearly a month afterward, until the landlord kicked them both out. 

Wayne doesn’t remember much from that time, except that he was piss drunk on shitty whiskey for near all of it, and that he probably saw Darry cry more than once. Katy brought them booze, and the casseroles that their Mom, ever a good farm wife, made for Darry in his grief. They’d pass out together every night in Darry’s single with only a bottle between them and somehow they both made it through alright.

Susan was a good woman in all the same ways Daryl’s a good man, but fuck, the boy is soft as that four-week-old kitten Wayne found on the side of the road once.

And Darry looks at Wayne the same way sometimes, like, you know, he ought to, you know.

Ought to take him in home in his truck, or something. 

But Wayne don’t, because goddammit, it’s not appropriate. 

~~~

Daryl takes him to a church to get him laid, which is bass ackward if you ask Wayne. It ends up doing nothing for him anyway, but he figures it must do something for Darry.

Darry likes the, you know, unobtainables. That’s what Wayne’s decided. 

No matter how many times Darry goes up to that damned church group he’s never going to hook up with one of those holier-than-thou Jesus freaks. Not without marriage, anyways. Regardless of what they’ll do to your finger.

The whole place smells like wood panelling, shag carpet and sexual frustration. The atmosphere makes Wayne want to hit something, hard, so he’s glad as fuck when Darry decides he’s had enough of the music and suggests they leave for Modeens.

“I just don’t know what you see in this place Darry.” Wayne says as he turns for the door.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a sec.” Darry is staring over Wayne’s shoulder, probably lookin’ at some pretty young thing. 

“I guess I’ll smoke a dart.” Wayne says in reply.

Daryl goes to get a hummer out behind the driveshed before they take off, and while Darry is off getting sucked by some virginic hypocrite, Wayne has to stew out by the car. Wayne kicks at the gravel of the church parking lot, pissed off and needing to fight something. 

Maybe a skid, at this rate. 

Lucky for them though, Darry isn’t gone too long. He comes back with a swagger, and doesn’t that just piss Wayne off further.

“Now what’d you bring me to the hottest queer hookup spot in Letterkenny fer?” 

“Figured you could use a little variety.” Darry says, and grins at him with a slow-smile cum-face that Wayne’s definitely never gonna think about again.

“You have a fucking problem Darry.” He says, as he lifts himself into his truck.

“Aww, but the repressed ones are always worth it in the end, Wayne.” And Darry says it like he says anything else, a little simple, but totally honest. 

Like he’s thought about it and he’s pretty sure he’s right. Darry wouldn't say anything otherwise. 

He’s fucking disorienting sometimes. 

Wayne just clenches his jaw and nods, like he knows what Darry’s talkin’ about.

~~~

Daryl’s lived with his great-aunt Millie since his Mom died some ten years ago, and it seems like a stable enough condition until she kicks it in a snowstorm in early November and Darry finds out she’s given everything to the goddamned Salvation Army Church.

After the wake Darry shows up at the property, all sullen, already out of his church clothes and in his boots and coveralls, lookin’ lost. It’s warmed up a bit, and the rain is good for the winter wheat, but fuck, it doesn’t do Darry any favours.

And Darry has no truck, no property, no family. He’s completely soaking wet and there’s no colour in him at all.

Wayne takes one look at him and crumples.

Toughest man in Letterkenny, fuck.

“Guess yer gonna need the guest room, then.” 

“Can confirm.”

“‘Kay.” 

“Thanks, bud.”

It looks like an easy conversation but the fuck it isn’t.

That was it, though. He and Darry had been running the farm together for years. Partners of sorts, and if anyone had a problem with Darry movin’ in they certainly don’t dare say anything to Wayne about it.

The farmhouse has four bedrooms, and ever since their parents car ran into a set of Clydesdale’s one night in a rainstorm, it’s only been him and Katy to fill ‘em.

Their parent’s room is full of junk and old papers, but the other room, the legit guest room, has been Darry’s de facto anyway, a place to crash when they drank too much and a bed to sleep in when they worked too late into the night. 

It wasn’t much anyways. Just an old box, with goldenrod and olive striped wallpaper and a musty mattress. 

~~~

The town kids are snowmobiling on the property again. 

Wayne normally wouldn’t give a fuck, but last winter two kids died while cutting through McMurphy’s bush and now McMurphy isn’t around anymore. Legal reasons.

The trick is to get the snowmobilers the fuck off your land without shooting any of them with your ‘22. 

But that don’t mean you can’t use your ‘22.

It’s late March and there’s water building up on the back fifty again, which means spring is coming, thank fuck. It was a cold, hard winter and Wayne’d rather die of exposure than be cooped up inside for another month.

The tundra swans are back, and the town kids have taken to scaring them away for sport, which is just not right.

“Here’s the plan...” Wayne starts, but Darry’s already nodding like he knows exactly what he’s going to say anyways.

They end up laying flat behind a snowdrift at the edge of the property, guns in hand, quiet in their inevitable ambush. 

“I can hear a few mustard buckets comin’ now.” Darry whispers.

“On three.” Wayne starts. “One… Two… Three…”

And they jump out Butch and Sundance-style, shooting blanks into the air. 

“Polkaroo mutherfuckers!” Wayne yells. Darry hollers his own profanities until the town kids, shitting themselves, turn around and head straight back down their own tracks.

Darry falls to the snow, laughing and rolling in glorious victory.

“I figure word of mouth will take care of the rest.” Wayne says.

It’s quiet again and the tundra swans are starting to settle back, and Darry gets up from the snow to stand back at Wayne’s side.

“I figure you’re just like the tundra swans, Der.” 

“Oh yeah? I remind you that the tile drain needs replacin’?”

“Nah, you always come back. Dependable.”

“Huh. Tundra swan’s migratory. When they come back it’s spring. Yer sayin’ I’m like spring, Wayne?”

“Not the right takeway, Darry.”

“Well ain’t that the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Fuck right off then.”

~~~

Thing about Darry is, he’s kind of pretty.

Wayne’d never say it out loud, or let Darry’s bein’ pretty interrupt getting the corn off the field, but hell, it’s true. Fuckin’ light brown curls and doe eyes and lashes that Wayne’s sure as shit shouldn’t notice at all.

It’s the kind of thing that’s almost not worth thinking about, so he doesn’t think about it often, cause that shit’s not appropriate.

May is kind of a fucked up time to let yourself feel anything anyway. 

~~~

If you ask Town Council, who are a bunch of fucking morons, they’d say Letterkenny Rib Fest is a ‘regional tourist attraction’, but fuck, it’s just another mainstreet street festival. Who the fuck needs another hot crowded weekend of craft stalls, jellied goods and deep-fried beaver tails? 

Still, there are worst things to do on a Friday night.

“I got this for yoooouu Deerrry.” Wayne sings, as he aims a freshly spun cotton candy directly towards Daryl’s mouth. He’s six beers in, full of pork fat and he can’t even remember February anymore. 

“Yer in a good mood.” Darry says, or at least, that’s what Wayne thinks he says though the fluffy pink and blue mass currently occupying his face hole.

And he is. Wayne is all loose and comfortable, up until the moment Derek Gunners little sister Margie comes along.

“Hey Wayne.” She says. Walking the way a girl does when she’s hot to trot.

“Margie.” Wayne replies, and he straightens up quick.

“You better save me a ride on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

Wayne gives the slightest of nods, before she walks on by.

“I think she’s givin’ you the Big Eyes, Wayne.”

“Is that what she’s doin’?”

“That’s what you told Squirrelly Dan and me, yeah.”

Wayne watches Margie walk away, a concerned look on his face.

“I think yer mistaken there Darry.”

Darry just shrugs into the humid air and leaves it.

~~~

It’s a bad storm, even for November. The wind is ripping through the siding, screaming through the walls, and everything feels weak and temporary. There’s no way Wayne can sleep in these conditions. 

Of course Daryl shows up in his doorway, lookin’ like a scared doe.

“Hard no.”

“‘Kay.” Darry says, he looks up the hall. “Wonder if Katy’s up.”

“Fuck off. She’d have your balls before you even made it to the door.”

Darry doesn’t move on, he just shifts his feet awkwardly, overly interested in the cracks between the floorboards.

“Oh, fer fucks sakes.” Wayne says and Darry looks up sharp, eyes all hope.

“Alright, but we’re goin’ toe to head. Come on.” And Wayne goes to make some space.

Darry just beams and runs full tilt, leaping into the bed with the same childish glee that he had at every sleepover Wayne can remember. He lands feet first, kneeing Wayne in the stomach and Wayne reflexively wrestles him off, grin creeping onto on his face. He grabs Darry by the arms, in a quick hold.

“Don’t make me regret letting you in.” He says as he flips Darry around and kicks at him until he’s in the agreed upon alignment. Darry hasn’t stopped smiling, but he does calm down, tucking himself in under Wayne’s quilt. 

“Naw you would never.” Darry kicks Wayne back, but softly, his eyelids drooping. Wayne throws him a pillow but says no more on the matter.

The storm got a lot worse as the night wore on, but it didn’t seem to bother Darry much.

~~~

Darry shows up in his room some nights now. They don’t, you know, talk about it or anything.

He just does. It is what it is. It’s almost not worth thinkin’ about.

Darry rolls out of bed those mornings early, like any morning. Scratching his balls and head respectively.

The thing is. 

Daryl has, like, two sets of coveralls, and they both smell like cattlebeast ass, but fuck, if Wayne doesn’t get a semi every time he watches Darry pull them over his long underwear. 

Wayne does so with one eye open, trying not to breathe.

And if that ain’t distressing.

Wayne always does the mature thing and pretends to sleep a bit longer, then tugs one off before getting dressed himself.

Darry’s already out feeding the dogs by the time he gets downstairs.

Katy’s in the kitchen though, lookin’ right through him, the way she always does.

“You two should fuck already.” She says flat out one morning. 

Wayne’s feeling particularly composed, so he doesn’t even flinch. “I won’t even dignify that with a response.”

“You don’t want to end up like The Ginger and Boots.”

Wayne stands tall and stiff, jaw set, fingers looped in his jeans and starting out a window in the distance.

“You know what happens when you don’t listen to my advice.”

Wayne raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, be like that, but if I hear about yous two sharing an ostrich I’ll be so disappointed.”

~~~

They walk to the Agricultural Hall, because neither of them can afford another impaired, and, given the circumstances, it is reasonable to expect that the night might get a little rowdy.

“Who the fuck has a Buck and Doe in the middle of January?” Wayne asks. Angie’s getting married to the fucktard City hipster, and though he’s pretty sure he’s not invited to the wedding, he’s sure as shit going to take advantage of cheap drinks at the Ag Hall.

“Pregnant ladies.” Darry responds, sullen and sure.

The realization hits Wayne like a donkey kick to the nads. “Shiiit.”

“Coulda been you.” Darry adds, as if Wayne needed to think on it further.

“Don’t remind me.” Wayne never wanted marriage. Never wanted kids. Still fuckin’ hurts though.

They’ve been pregaming since 5pm and barely even feel the ice pellets that hit their faces, whirling in the mid-winter wind. 

They get four more shots of whiskey in each before one of Angie’s cousins takes offence to their participation in this hallowed tradition, and two of the hipster’s City friends figure out who Wayne is, and suddenly everyone’s looking for a fight.

“Hey, hick.” Says City Fucker #1. The problem with people not from Letterkenny or any town in the immediate vicinity is: They don’t know Wayne by reputation.

“Who invited you two nutsacks?” City Fucker #2, probably a graphic designer, thinks it’s a good idea to shove Darry in the shoulder, and fuck, Wayne wants to crush him.

“Yeah Wayne, I don’t wanna start anything or anything, but it is kinda fucked that yer here.” The cousin, Jerry “Staples” Shore, is notably more cautious, given Wayne’s already kicked his ass on multiple occasions. (Staples, on a count of he holds the Letterkenny Public School record for embedding the most concurrent staples in his forehead.)

The thing about sitting at a bar is: Your back is to most of the guys who might want to suckerpunch you. Oftentimes it’s prudent to take the first swing before they think of it first. 

Wayne doesn’t think he’s broadcasting his intentions, but Darry mutters “Oh fer fucks sakes.” under his breath so he must not be as stealth as he thinks.

They both down one more shot, tap the counter with their empty shot glasses twice, and on the second tap swing around fisticufffs wailing, looking to connect on anything big and menacing.

The brawl lasts more or less about as long as it takes six guys to to drag Wayne and Darry out the firedoor. (Two guys on Darry, four on Wayne.) 

But City Fucker #1 is gonna have a black eye, someone drew blood from City Fucker #2 and the coat check girl had good the sense to throw out their jackets out after ‘em.

So Wayne counts the whole night as a win. 

Fucking amateurs. 

There’s no moon, just the black sky, white hot stars and the milky way spinning too fast around his head. Darry tosses him some snow to put over his knuckles and he catches at least half of it.

The Ag Hall isn’t too far of a walk from the property, even in the dead of winter, but Wayne isn’t doing so well. 

“I’m not doin’ s’well.” Wayne says as he staggers in the general direction of home.

“Yeah, I’ve arrived at a similar conclusion.” Darry says as he props his shoulder under Wayne’s.

For a while Wayne can even see straight.

A few minutes pass and Darry sighs. “Yer starring Wayne.”

“Am not.” 

“Yeah, y’are,”

“Fuck’ff Der.

“Fuck you, I’ll prove it.” And Daryl kisses him. 

To prove a point.

It’s dirty and hotmouthed and it winds Wayne like a punch to the gut. 

For a while there he couldn’t quite tell where Darry ended and he begun, but hell, he knows pretty well exactly where now. He feels it in the empty chill between them when Darry pulls his mouth away. 

“Jesus fuck.” Wayne says. He’s pretty sure he’s no fucking Sally, but fuck.

“Yep.” Darry said, biting his lip as they resumed the frigid walk back to the farm.

“I guess I was starin’,” He admits, “but fuck Der.”

“Yep.”

They barely make it down the lane, toes numb and unfeeling, and wake up the next day on living room floor. 

Katy cooks them bacon pancakes and serves them troubled glances.

~~~

They have a fairly OK start to the season.

They get the corn in the field on time.

And the wheat.

And the soybeans.

So.

All’s goin’ just peachy, thanks.

~~~

There’s always reasons. Reasons he shouldn’t think. Reasons he shouldn’t have feelings for best bud. 

Reasons not to trust himself.

But most of all, most prominent, is that it’s just not appropriate. 

It’s August before Wayne finds himself compromised is such a way again. 

Not piss drunk, but beat and horny as fuck all. Twelve hours in forty degree heat, and they still had 50 acres of hay to cut yet.

They take refuge in one of the barns. Wayne sits in a lawn chair, legs stretched out in front of him, letting what little breeze there is wash over him. Darry’s decided he’s gonna sit on the cold concrete by Wayne’s side.

Darry’s lips are dry-chapped and red from the sun and he smells like fuckin’ Banana Boat.

Wayne just _wants_ with every fibre of his being.

“Lookin’ a bit hot there bud.” Darry says, looking up to him.

Wayne’s not sure he’s ever blushed before, but he can feel the heat creep up into his face, and fuck, he hopes Darry don’t notice. 

“Aww, she’s bashful.” Darry says leaning towards Wayne, side casually pressing into Wayne’s thigh. Wayne’s jaw is set and he’s sitting as stiff as he can, which is surprisingly difficult considering how stiff he is in the jeans. Surely, a side effect of bumping around in a tractor all day.

“What’s it to ya?” 

“You need to get laid, Wayne.”

“With a girl?”

“If that’s what you want, then.”

“I take it you’re, you know, offering?”

Darry just shrugs, shoulder pressing a bit too hard into Wayne’s leg, and fuck. It breaks him. Whatever little control Wayne has over the situation is gone.

“Yeah,” Wayne says. “‘Kay.”

And hell, Darry doesn’t give him a chance to say it twice, he just grins a grin too smart for a hick like him, and shoves at Wayne’s knee, spreading his legs further.

“Kay.” Darry says.

He looks up at Wayne exactly once, just to check. Wayne gives him a short nod. 

“Don’t ever think I’ve seen you look scared before.” Darry says, because he’s thought about it. 

Because it’s true.

Wayne is fucking terrified and Darry just palms Wayne’s jeans like it’s the most natural thing. He can feel his dick strain against the denim, and he wants to look away but he fucking can’t.

Darry undoes his top button and unzips his fly, eyes like saucers. He’s not even wavering, fuck, and he pulls out Wayne’s dick through his briefs.

Darry’s mouth is somehow hotter than Wayne remembers it, and Wayne thinks this ought to be disgusting, but somehow Darry acting like he’s the one getting the deal here.

Darry makes quick work, and there’s a skill to his cocksucking that Wayne don’t expect.

Before he realizes what he’s done Wayne moves his hands to Darry’s curls, fuck, and lets his fingers run through them, all sweaty and damp. Darry makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and rolls his tongue over the head of Wayne’s cock.

Wayne doesn’t last long after that. He comes with a low grunt, twitching into Darry’s mouth.

Darry doesn’t nuzzle his thigh. Not at all.

“Fuck, Der.” Wayne manages.

“Yep.”

Darry gets up to take a drink from the hose and rinse his face off and Wayne coughs, still stunned. 

Then he says, “I hope you weren’t expecting any kind of reciprocation.” 

And it must have been the wrong thing, ‘cause Darry just gives him a hard look, like he’s ready to fight, as says, “I don’t expect shit from you Wayne.”

There’s a beat of silence before Wayne, bested, says,“Well, pitter patter.” 

The afternoon wears on and the pleasure and terror slowly subsides, leaving a mixture of guilt, confusion and the increasing realization that he might actually be an asshole.

The most fucked up thing is, nothing else is different about the day.

It’s not until after dinner, as he trails Darry up the stairs, sunburnt and barely alive, that he thinks to say anything about it.

“Hey.” He says when Darry turns towards his own bedroom. Darry turns around, face as hard as Wayne’s ever seen it, and it breaks his heart. “Well, I’m sure as fuck not going to sleep in the guest room.” 

“Good fer you.”

“No, seriously. Come on Darry.” He’s tired and he feels like shit and he just wants Darry there. 

And, thank fuck, after a few moments Darry follows him to his room, smiling and stripping down to his boxer briefs.

“You know what this means Wayne.”

Wayne takes the head of the bed, like he always does.

“No, tell me, what does it mean Darry?”

Darry just climbs up beside him, throws an arm over Wayne’s stomach, and tucks his head under Wayne’s chin. 

He sighs exactly twice before passing out, exhausted.

Wayne’s not sure what he was expecting. 

They’re not toe to head, and Darry’s cuddled up on him like he’s his sweetie, and Wayne’s not even sure this’s not what he wanted.

~~~

“Katy, I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He admits the next day. 

Not something that comes easy or is often repeated.

“Look, it’s not rocket science: Fuck Darry. Be happy. Get over yourself, Champ.” She says, and she slaps his shoulder. 

“Yeah, is that what you tell yer two boyfriends?”

“Maybe. You want me to elaborate?”

“Hard no.” 

“Well then sort this out. I won’t tell you again.”

Wayne shifts into his tough stance.

Katy just scoffs and says, “I don’t want to see you do another winter alone.”

It’s harvest, the days are getting shorter and the season is wrapping up.

They sleep together every night now, and Wayne says nothing about it, but honestly, he’d be disappointed otherwise. 

It’s getting late and Darry’s leaning up against a pillow beside him, knees bent and pressed against Wayne’s legs. He’s concerned about the price of commodities. 

“It was a good year for oats,” he says and Wayne nods, “good yields,” Wayne nods again, “but... they’re only selling for $2.50 a bushel.” Wayne goes to touch Darry’s cheek and Darry gives him a confused look. Like it’s the last thing he thought Wayne’d do and Wayne kisses him then, once quick on the lips just to see what happens. 

It feels nice.

And the world don’t end.

And Darry’s gone still, like he’s trying not to spook a deer.

So Wayne tries it again. This time not so quick, and Darry’s lips are rougher than he’d thought they’d be. Wayne licks the bottom one and Darry’s mouth opens, hot breath still tentative, up until Wayne slips his tongue past Darry’s teeth and Darry seems to realize that this is happening and starts kissing Wayne back. 

Darry kisses like he fights, which is, not very often but with a lot of enthusiasm. 

Wayne’s pretty hot and bothered by the time he pulls away, and Darry’s flush pink and breathing hard and, fuck. It doesn’t even occur to Wayne that necking with his best pal, in his bed, is anything but exactly what he ought to do.

“Just have at’er then.” Darry says. 

And it hits Wayne that, you know, he should. 

That he wants to and Darry wants to and there’s no good reason not to. He shifts in the bed so their bodies press together, he kisses Darry deep, and grabs his hip and grinds down slowly. It’s a fuckin’ revelation. Every inch of skin Wayne can touch to Darry’s vibrates.

“Fuckn’Eh” Darry mumbles and his hand immediately moves down between their bodies. Darry shoves Wayne’s briefs down and their cocks connect, hard and hot, and Wayne groans and wraps his hand around both.

Wayne thrusts into Darry’s fist and bites at his neck and both hold on as long as they can.

It’s Daryl that loses it first, groaning long and hard, cum spilling over his fist and spurting onto Wayne’s stomach. The sensation of it drags Wayne over the edge, grunting low into Darry’s shoulder, mouth open and lax.

“Fuck Wayne.” Daryl says after a moment. 

Their limbs are still all tangled up, and everything's sticky and neither of them look to be moving any time soon.

“Yep.” 

~~~

Wayne wakes up real early the next day with dried cum in his chest hair, and fuck, if that ain’t embarrassing.

He showers like he normally would, and goes down for breakfast like he normally would, and makes coffee like he normally would. 

Katy makes him toast and Darry comes down in his own time.

“How’re you now?” He says from the kitchen table, jaw set.

Darry just grins. “Good and you?” 

“Not so bad.” And Wayne takes a swig of coffee.

“Oh thank fuck.” Katy says as she throws Darry a yogurt cup and then, “Atta boy Champ”, to both of them.

“I’m gonna ignore that.” Wayne decides. “Well, pitter patter let’s get at 'er.”

And thank fuck, don’t they both.

**Author's Note:**

> There are three inaccuracies in Letterkenny that drive me nuts:
> 
> 1\. Everyone is young. (For every one person under 40 there should be 5 Boomers.)  
> 2\. It's always summer. (It's almost never summer.)  
> 3\. Nobody is ever drinking Tims. Or any sort of coffee.


End file.
